May the Intelligent Remain Silent
by blogbuscus
Summary: Set in a mental institute, Sherlock is mute and convinced there is nothing wrong with him, until John convinces him otherwise. First person, Sherlock's POV. Mental illness included.


As he walked into the room I couldn't help looking him up and down. One look at his face and I knew a slender body was to follow. Sure enough, I was right as always. I assure all of you reading this that I don't make assumptions without taking everything else into account. I can't remember the last time I was wrong. Then again, my earliest memory was from 3 years back and it was set in this place.

The guy sat down on the faded sofa with his eyes fixed on the television. Almost instantaneously he brought his hand up to his mouth and started biting his nails, almost like it was a nervous habit. I guess he had a reason to be nervous, I'd never seen him before and I never miss anything. It was his first day in the institute and for most people that is you. Rock bottom in the middle of Fuckedville. I don't take pride in saying this but I couldn't take my eyes away from the newcomer.

"That's John. He came here today, it's better if you don't.. oh wait, you don't talk." Smirked Spencer. Oh how I loath that man. To say I wanted to injure him would be an understatement. Then again, I disliked all of the orderlies here, bar one. Max knew when I needed to be alone, which was often. He'd keep his mouth shut and his nose out, I guess it was in his nature, and his job description. As for the others, well.. I say others and that wouldn't be right. The other two get oneveryone's nerves. Spencer and Sam were sent to this place by Satan to try my nerve.

I turned my head to glare at Spencer but my eyes caught something much more interesting. Dr Morsan, the resident psychologist and manager of the institute was making her way over to me. How did I know she was here for me? He facial expression. She had the usual straight face and body language as if to express her unwillingness to talk to me. Watching her walk was almost comical. Her heels could be used as some form of torture for rapists. I stood up to walk away but Spencer put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me back into my seat. With a sigh I turned my head to see Morsan towering above me. I am not going to lie, she looked scary, and serious.

"I take it you'll be attending the group session today?" She said in her usual manner. I knew I had no choice after skipping it last week. I had no reason to be here, I don't have a mental illness, give me a chance and I'd me out of here like a shot. I didn't want to break my silence though. 3 years and I haven't said a word, but there is an explanation. They can track voices. I can't risk being found and having my secrets taken. Never. So far it's been plain sailing though, no talking means no way of them knowing I'm here, right? Wrong. You never know who could be working for them. So from the day I found myself in this place there has been zero socialisation. But back to the pressing matter of Morsan. I just sat and looked at her with one eyebrow raised as if to ask why she thought I would reply.

"Good, canteen at 3 o'clock." Her words are enough to dampen the mood of a hyperactive six year old. As she walked off I lost interest in her abnormally high heels and turned back to see an empty place on the sofa where John was. I managed to catch a glimpse of this black and white striped t-shirt disappear behind the door frame and Max walking after him. They went right, towards the west wing that had a few old, unused bedrooms and the showers. Why did he get to leave before the rest of us? I could leave anytime but that's because I have privileges. Spending so long here without causing problems had it's upside. I never had to go to the courtyard for exercise, I could do as I pleased really. There are limits though, miss Morsan's group sessions and you'd never hear the end of it.

The TV flicked off and I watched everyone blink in surprise almost in unison. There were a few grumbles of discontempt but I have no idea why turning off a TV was a bad thing. It rots your brain and lowers your IQ. I need my brain, maybe not as much now while I was stuck in this place but if they were to get hold of it, everyone was in trouble. Everyone started to file out of the room and into the corridors and to the courtyard.

"Maybe it would be an idea for you to get your shower now since you always wait until everyone is out before you go in?" Spencer suggested. For once he wasn'tsarcastic or malicious about it, and it wasn't a bad suggestion. Spencer handed me the keys to the door of the supply cupboard that held the towels and soaps and I walked towards the showers.


End file.
